English Literature For Boys And Girls by H.E. Marshall

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twice at least troups of strolling players, the Queen's Companyand the Earl of Worcester's Company. It is very likely thatlittle Will was taken to see the plays they acted. Then when hewas eleven years old there was great excitement in the countrytown, for Queen Elizabeth came to visit the great Earl ofLeicester at his castle of Kenilworth, not sixteen miles away.There were great doings then, and the Queen was received with allthe magnificence and pomp that money could procure andimagination invent. Some of these grand shows Shakespeare musthave seen.

Long afterwards he remembered perhaps how one evening he hadstood among the crowd tiptoeing and eager to catch a glimpse ofthe great Queen as she sat enthroned on a golden chair. Her red-gold hair gleamed and glittered with jewels under the flickeringtorchlight. Around her stood a crowd of nobles and ladies onlyless brilliant that she. Then, as William gazed and gazed, hiseyes aching with the dazzling lights, there was a movement in thesurging crowd, a murmur of "ohs" and "ahs." And, turning, theboy saw another lady, another Queen, appear from out the darkshadow of the trees. Stately and slowly she moved across thegrass. Then following her came a winged boy with golden bow andarrows. This was the god of Love, who roamed the world shootinghis love arrows at the hearts of men and women, making them loveeach other. He aimed, he shot, the arrow flew, but the godmissed his aim and the lady passed on, beautiful, cold, free, asbefore. Love could not touch her, he followed her but in vain.

It was with such pageants, such allegories, that her peopleflattered Queen Elizabeth, for many men laid their hearts at herfeet, but she in return never gave her own. She was the womanabove all others to be loved, to be worshiped, but herselfremained in "maiden meditation fancy-free." The memory of thosebrilliant days stayed with the poet-child. They were sun-gilt,as childish memories are, and in after years he wrote:

"That very time I saw (but thou couldst not) Flying between the cold moon and the earth, Cupid all arm'd. A certain aim he took At a fair vestal, throned by the West, And loos'd his love-shaft smartly from his bow, As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts; But I might see young cupid's fiery shaft Quench'd in the chaste beams of the watery moon, And the imperial votaress passed on, In maiden meditation, fancy-free. Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell: It fell upon a little western flower; Before, milk-white; now, purple with love's wound, And maidens call it love-in-idleness."*

*Midsummer Night's Dream, Act II Scene i.

Some time after John Shakespeare became chief bailiff hisfortunes turned. From being rich he became poor. Bit by bit hewas obliged to sell his own and his wife's property. So littleWill was taken away from school at the age of thirteen, and setto earn his own living as a butcher--his father's trade, we aretold. But if he ever was a butcher he was, nevertheless, anactor and a poet, "and when he killed a calf he would do it in ahigh style and make a speech."* How Shakespeare fared in thisnew work we do not know, but we may fancy him when work was donewandering along the pretty country lanes or losing himself in theforest of Arden, which lay not far from his home, "the poet's eyein a fine frenzy rolling," and singing to himself:

"Jog on, jog on, the footpath way, And merrily hent the stile-a; A merry heart goes all the day, Your sad tires in a mile-a."*

*Winter's Tale, Act IV Scene ii.

*John Aubrey.

He knew the lore of fields and woods, of trees and flowers, andbirds and beasts. He sang of

"The ousel-cock so black of hue, With orange-tawny bill, The throstle with his note so true, The wren with little quill. The finch, the sparrow, and the lark, The plain-song cuckoo gray, Whose note full many a man doth mark, And dares not answer nay."*

*Midsummer Night's Dream, Act III Scene i.

He remembered, perhaps, in after years his rambles by the slow-flowing Avon, when he wrote:

"He makes sweet music with th' enamell'd stones, Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge He overtaketh in his pilgrimage; And so by many winding nooks he strays, With willing sport, to the wide ocean."*

*Two Gentlemen of Verona, Act II Scene vii.

He knew the times of the flowers. In spring he marked

"the daffodils, That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty."*

*Winter's Tale.

Of summer flowers he tells us

"Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram; The marigold, that goes to bed wi' the sun, And with him rises weeping; these are flowers Of middle summer."*

*Winter's Tale.

He knew that "a lapwing runs close by the ground," that choughsare "russet-pated." He knew all the beauty that is to be foundthroughout the country year.

Sometimes in his country wanderings Shakespeare got into mischieftoo. He had a daring spirit, and on quiet dark nights he couldcreep silently about the woods snaring rabbits or hunting deer.But we are told "he was given to all unluckiness in stealingvenison and rabbits."* He was often caught, sometimes got a goodbeating, and sometimes was sent to prison.

*Archdeacon Davies.

So the years passed on, and we know little of what happened inthem. Some people like to think that Shakespeare was aschoolmaster for a time, others that he was a clerk in a lawyer'soffice. He may have been one or other, but we do not know. Whatwe do know is that when he was eighteen he took a great step. Hemarried. We can imagine him making love-songs then. Perhaps hesang:

"O mistress mine, where are you roaming? O, stay and hear; your true-love's coming, That can sing both high and low: Trip no further, pretty sweeting; Journeys end in lovers' meeting; Every wise man's son doth know.

What is love? 'tis not hereafter; Present mirth hath present laughter; What's to come is still unsure: In delay there lies no plenty; Then come kiss me, sweet-and-twenty, Youth's a stuff will not endure."*

*Twelfth Night.

The lady whom Shakespeare married was named Anne Hathaway. Shecame of farmer folk like Shakespeare's own mother. She was eightyears older than her boyish lover, but beyond that we know littleof Anne Hathaway, for Shakespeare never anywhere mentions hiswife.A little while after their marriage a daughter was born to Anneand William Shakespeare. Nearly two years later a little boy andgirl came to them. The boy died when he was about eleven, andonly the two little girls, Judith and Susanna, lived to grow up.

In spite of the fact that Shakespeare had now a wife and childrento look after, he had not settled down. He was still wild, andbeing caught once more in stealing game he left Stratford andwent to London.

Chapter XLVI SHAKESPEARE--THE MAN

WHEN Shakespeare first went to London he had a hard life. Hefound no better work to do than that of holding horses outsidethe theater doors. In those days the plays took place in theafternoon, and as many of the fine folk who came to watch themrode on horseback, some one was needed to look after the horsesuntil the play was over. But poor though this work was,Shakespeare seems to have done it well, and he became such afavorite that he had several boys under him who were long knownas "Shakespeare's boys." Their master, however, soon left workoutside the theater for work inside. And now began the busiestyears of his life, for he both acted and wrote. At first it maybe he only altered and improved the plays of others. But soon hebegan to write plays that were all his own. Yet Shakespeare,like Chaucer, never invented any of his own stories. There isonly one play of his, called Love's Labor's Lost, the story ofwhich is not to be found in some earlier book. That, too, mayhave been founded on another story which is now lost.

When you come to know Shakespeare's plays well you will find itvery interesting to follow his stories to their sources. That ofKing Lear, which is one of Shakespeare's great romantichistorical plays, is, for instance, to be found in Geoffrey ofMonmouth, in Wace's Brut, and in Layamon's Brut. But it was fromnone of these that Shakespeare took the story, but from thechronicle of a man named Holinshed who lived and wrote in thetime of Queen Elizabeth, he in his turn having taken it from someone of the earlier sources.

For, after all, in spite of the thousands of books that have beenwritten since the world began, there are only a certain number ofstories which great writers have told again and again in varyingways. One instance of this we saw when in the beginning of thisbook we followed the story of Arthur.

But although Shakespeare borrowed his plots from others, when hehad borrowed them he made them all his own. He made his peopleso vivid and so true that he makes us forget that they are notreal people. We can hardly realize that they never lived, thatthey never walked and talked, and cried and laughed, loved andhated, in this world just as we do. And this is so because thestage to him is life and life a stage. "All the world's astage," he says,

"And all the men and women merely players: They have their exits and their entrances: And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages."*

*As You Like It.

And again he tells us:

"Life's but a walking shadow; a poor player, That struts and frets his hour upon the stage And then is heard no more."*

*Macbeth.

It is from Shakespeare's works that we get the clearest pictureof Elizabethan times. And yet, although we learn from him somuch of what people did in those days, of how they talked andeven of how they thought, the chief thing that we feel aboutShakespeare's characters is, not that they are Elizabethan, butthat they are human, that they are like ourselves, that theythink, and say, and do, things which we ourselves might think,and say, and do.

There are many books we read which we think of as very pretty,very quaint, very interesting--but old-fashioned. ButShakespeare can never be old-fashioned, because, although he isthe outcome of his own times, and gives us all the flavor of hisown times, he gives us much more. He understood human nature, hesaw beneath the outward dress, and painted for us real men andwomen. And although fashion in dress and modes of living maychange, human nature does not change. "He was not of an age butfor all time," it was said of him about seven years after hisdeath, and now that nearly three hundred years have come and gonewe still acknowledge the truth of those words.

Shakespeare's men and women speak and act and feel in the main aswe might now. Many of his people we feel are our brothers andsisters. And to this human interest he adds something more, forhe leads us too through "unpathed waters" to "the undreamedshores" of fairyland.

Shakespeare's writing time was short. Before he left Stratfordhe wrote nothing unless it may have been a few scoffing versesagainst the Justice of the Peace who punished him for poaching.But these, if they were ever written, are lost. In the last fewyears of his life he wrote little or nothing. Thus the number ofhis writing years was not more than twenty to twenty-five, but inthat time he wrote thirty-seven plays, two long poems, and ahundred and fifty-six sonnets. At one time he must have writtentwo plays every year. And when you come to know these plays wellyou will wonder at the greatness of the task.

Shakespeare writes his plays sometimes in rime, sometimes inblank verse, sometimes in prose, at times using all these in oneplay. In this he showed how free he was from rules. For, untilhe wrote, plays had been written in rime or blank verse only.

For the sake of convenience Shakespeare's plays have been dividedinto histories, tragedies and comedies. But it is not alwayseasy to draw the line and decide to which class a play belongs.They are like life. Life is not all laughter, nor is it alltears. Neither are Shakespeare's comedies all laughter, and someof his tragedies would seem at times to be too deep for tears,full only of fierce, dark sorrow--and yet there is laughter inthem too.

Besides being divided into histories, tragedies and comedies theyhave been divided in another way, into three periods of time.The first was when Shakespeare was trying his hand, when he wasbrimming over with the joy of the new full life of London. Thesecond was when some dark sorrow lay over his life, we know notwhat, when the pain and mystery and the irony of living seems tostrike him hard. Then he wrote his great tragedies. The thirdwas when he had gained peace again, when life seemed to flowcalmly and smoothly, and this period lasted until the end.

We know very little of Shakespeare's life in London. As an actorhe never made a great name, never acted the chief character in aplay. But he acted sometimes in his own plays and took the part,we are told, of a ghost in one, and of a servant in another,neither of them great parts. He acted, too, in plays written byother people. But it was as a writer that he made a name, andthat so quickly that others grew jealous of him. One called him"an upstart Crow, beautified in our feathers . . . in his ownconceit the only Shake-scene in the country."* But for the mostpart Shakespeare made friends even of rival authors, and many ofthem loved him well. He was good-tempered, merry, witty, andkindly, a most lovable man. "He was a handsome, well-shaped man,very good company, and a very ready and pleasant smooth wit,"**said one. "I loved the man and do honor to his memory, on thisside of idolatry as much as any. He was indeed honest and of anopen and free nature,"*** said another. Others still called hima good fellow, gentle Shakespeare, sweet Master Shakespeare. Ishould like to think, too, that Spenser called him "our pleasantWilly." But wise folk tell us that these words were not spoken ofShakespeare but of some one else whose name was not William atall.

*Robert Greene, A groatsworth of Wit bought with a million ofrepentance.**John Aubrey.***Ben Jonson.

And so although outside his work we get only glimpses of the man,these glimpses taken together with his writings show us WillShakespeare as a big-hearted man, a man who understood all andforgave all. He understood the little joys and sorrows that makeup life. He understood the struggle to be good, and would notscorn people too greatly when they were bad. "Children, we feelsure," says one of the latest writers about him, "did not stoptheir talk when he came near them, but continued in the happyassurance that it was only Master Shakespeare."* And so ifchildren find his plays hard to read yet a while they may atleast learn to know his stories and learn to love his name--it isonly Master Shakespeare. But they must remember that learning toknow Shakespeare's stories through the words of other people isonly half a joy. The full joy of Shakespeare can only come whenwe are able to read his plays in his very own words. But thatwill come all the more easily and quickly to us if we first knowhis stories well.

*Prof. Raleigh.

There are parts in some of Shakespeare's plays that many peoplefind coarse. But Shakespeare is not really coarse. We rememberthe vision sent to St. Peter which taught him that there wasnothing common or unclean. Shakespeare had seen that vision. Inlife there is nothing common or unclean, if we only look at it inthe right way. And Shakespeare speaks of everything that toucheslife most nearly. He uses words that we do not use now; hespeaks of things we do not speak of now; but it was the fashionof his day to be more open and plain spoken than we are. And ifwe remember that, there is very little in Shakespeare that needhurt us even if there is a great deal which we cannot understand.And when you come to read some of the writers of Shakespeare'sage and see that in them the laughter is often brutal, the horrorof tragedy often coarse and crude, you will wonder more than everhow Shakespeare made his laughter so sweet and sunny, and how,instead of revolting us, he touches our hearts with his horrorand pain.

About eleven years passed after Shakespeare left Stratford beforehe returned there again. But once having returned, he often paidvisits to his old home. And he came now no more as a poor wildlad given to poaching. He came as a man of wealth and fame. Hebought the best house in Stratford, called New Place, as well asa good deal of land. So before John Shakespeare died he saw hisfamily once more important in the town.

Then as the years went on Shakespeare gave up all connection withLondon and the theater and settled down to a quiet country life.He planted trees, managed his estate, and showed that though hewas the world's master-poet he was a good business man too.Everything prospered with him, his two daughters married well,and comfortably, and when not more than forty-three he held hisfirst grandchild in his arms. It may be he looked forward tomany happy peaceful years when death took him. He died of fever,brought on, no doubt, by the evil smells and bad air by whichpeople lived surrounded in those days before they had learned tobe clean in house and street.

Shakespeare was only fifty-two when he died. It was in thespringtime of 1616 that he died, breathing his last upon

"The uncertain glory of an April day Which now shows all the beauty of the sun And by and by a cloud takes all away."*

*Two Gentlemen of Verona.

He was buried in Stratford Parish Church, and on his grave wasplaced a bust of the poet. That bust and an engraving in thebeginning of the first great edition of his works are the onlytwo real portraits of Shakespeare. Both were done after hisdeath, and yet perhaps there is no face more well known to usthan that of the greatest of all poets.

Beneath the bust are written these lines:

"Stay, passenger, why goest thou by so fast? Read, if thou-canst, whom envious Death hath plast Within this monument; Shakespeare with whome Quick nature dide: whose name doth deck ys tombe, Far more than cost, sith all yt he hath writt, Leaves living art but page to serve his witt."

And so our greatest poet lies not beneath the great arch ofWestminster but in the quiet church of the little country town inwhich he was born.

Chapter LXVII SHAKESPEARE--"THE MERCHANT OF VENICE"

IN this chapter I am going to tell you in a few words the storyof one of Shakespeare's plays called The Merchant of Venice. Itis founded on an Italian story, one of a collection made by SerGiovanni Fiorentino.

The merchant of Venice was a rich young man called Antonio. Whenthe story opens he had ventured all his money in tradingexpeditions to the East and other lands. In two months' time heexpects the return of his ships and hopes then to make a greatdeal of money. But meantime he has none to spare, and when hisgreat friend Bassanio comes to borrow of him he cannot give himany.

Bassanio's need is urgent, for he loves the beautiful lady Portiaand desires to marry her. This lady was so lovely and so richthat her fame had spread over all the world till "the four windsblow in from every coast renowned suitors." Bassanio would beamong these suitors, but alas he has no money, not even enough topay for the journey to Belmont where the lovely lady lived. Yetif he wait two months until Antonio's ships return it may be toolate, and Portia may be married to another. So to supply hisfriend's need Antonio decides to borrow the money, and soon a Jewnamed Shylock is found who is willing to lend it. For Shylockwas a money-lender. He lent money to people who had need of itand charged them interest. That is, besides having to pay backthe full sum they had borrowed they had also to pay some extramoney in return for the loan.

In those days Jews were ill-treated and despised, and there wasgreat hatred between them and Christians. And Shylock especiallyhated Antonio, because not only did he rail against Jews andinsult them, but he also lent money without demanding interest,thereby spoiling Shylock's trade. So now the Jew lays a trap forAntonio, hoping to catch him and be revenged upon his enemy. Hewill lend the money, he says, and he will charge no interest, butif the loan be not repaid in three months Antonio must pay asforfeit a pound of his own flesh, which Shylock may cut from anypart of his body that he chooses.

To this strange bargain Antonio consents. It is but a jest, hethinks.

"Content in faith, I'll seal to such a bond, And say, there is much kindness in the Jew."

But Bassanio is uneasy. "I like not fair terms," he says, "and avillain mind. You shall not seal to such a bond for me." ButAntonio insists and the bond is sealed.

All being settled, Bassanio receives the money, and before hesets off to woo his lady he gives a supper to all his friends, towhich he also invites Shylock. Shylock goes to this supperalthough to his daughter Jessica he says,

"But wherefore should I go? I am not bid for love; they flatter me: But yet I'll go in hate, to feed upon The prodigal Christian."

But Jessica does not join her father in his hatred of allChristians. She indeed has given her heart to one of the hatedrace, and well knowing that her father will never allow her tomarry him, she, that night while he is at supper with Bassanio,dresses herself in boy's clothes and steals away, taking with hera great quantity of jewels and money.

When Shylock discovers his loss he is mad with grief and rage.He runs about the streets crying for justice.

"Justice! the law! my ducats, and my daughter! A sealed bag, two sealed bags of ducats, Of double ducats stol'n from me by my daughter!"

And all the wild boys in Venice follow after him mocking him andcrying, "His stones, his daughter and his ducats!"

So finding nowhere love or sympathy but everywhere only mockeryand cruel laughter, Shylock vows vengeance. The world hastreated him ill, and he will repay the world with ill, andchiefly against Antonio does his anger grow bitter.

Then Antonio's friends shake their heads and say, "Let him bewarethe hatred of the Jew." They look gravely at each other, for itis whispered abroad that "Antonio hath a ship of rich ladingwreck'd on the narrow seas."

Then let Antonio beware.

"Thou wilt not take his flesh," says one of the young merchant'sfriends to Shylock. "What's that good for?"

"To bait fish withal," snarls the Jew. "If it will feed nothingelse it will feed my revenge. He hath disgraced me, and hinderedme half a million; laughed at my losses, mocked at my gains,scorned my nation, thwarted my bargains, cooled my friends,heated mine enemies; and what's his reason? I am a Jew. Hathnot a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions,senses, affections, passions? Fed with the same food, hurt withthe same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by thesame means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, as aChristian is? If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickleus, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? If youwrong us, shall we not revenge? If we are like you in the rest,we will resemble you in that. If a Jew wrong a Christian, whatis his humility? Revenge. If a Christian wrong a Jew, whatshould his sufferance be by Christian example? Why, revenge.The villainy you teach me, I will execute, and it shall go hardbut I will better the instruction."

Then let Antonio beware.

Meantime in Belmont many lovers come to woo fair Portia. Withhigh hope they come, with anger and disappointment they go away.None can win the lady's hand. For there is a riddle here ofwhich none know the meaning.

When a suitor presents himself and asks for the lady's hand inmarriage, he is shown three caskets, one of gold, one of silver,and one of lead. Upon the golden one is written the words, "Whochooseth me, shall gain what many men desire"; upon the silvercasket are the words, "Who chooseth me, shall get as much as hedeserves"; and upon the leaden one, "Who chooseth me, must giveand hazard all he hath." And only whoso chooseth aright, eachsuitor is told, can win the lady.

This trial of all suitors had been ordered by Portia's father erehe died, so that only a worthy and true man might win hisdaughter. Some suitors choose the gold, some the silver casket,but all, princes, barons, counts, and dukes, alike choose wrong.

At length Bassanio comes. Already he loves Portia and she loveshim. There is no need of any trail of the caskets. Yet it mustbe. Her father's will must be obeyed. But what if he choosewrong. That is Portia's fear.

"I pray you, tarry; pause a day or two Before you hazard; for, in choosing wrong, I lose your company,"

she says.

But Bassanio cannot wait:--

"Let me choose; For, as I am, I live upon the rack."

And so he stands before the caskets, longing to make a choice,yet fearful. The gold he rejects, the silver too, and lays hishand upon the leaden casket. He opens it. Oh, joy! within is aportrait of his lady. He has chosen aright. yet he can scarcebelieve his happiness.

"I am," he says,

"Like one of two contending in a prize, That thinks he hath done well in people's eyes, Hearing applause, and universal shout, Giddy in spirit, still gazing in a doubt Whether those pearls of praise be his or no; So, thrice fair lady, stand I, even so; As doubtful whether what I see be true, Until confirm'd, sign'd, ratifi'd by you."

And Portia, happy, triumphant, humble, no longer the great ladywith untold wealth, with lands and palaces and radiant beauty,but merely a woman who has given her love, answers:--

"You see me, Lord Bassanio, where I stand, Such as I am: though, for myself alone, I would not be ambitious in my wish, To wish myself much better; yet, for you, I would be trebled twenty times myself; A thousand times more fair, ten thousand times More rich; That only to stand high on your account, I might in virtues, beauties, livings, friends, Exceed account: but the full sum of me Is sum of something: which, to term in gross, Is an unlesson'd girl, unschool'd, unpractis'd, Happy in this, she is not yet so old But she may learn; happier than this, She is not bred so dull but she can learn; Happiest of all, is, that her gentle spirit Commite itself to yours to be directed, As from her lord, her governor, her king. Myself, and what is mine, to you, and yours Is now converted; but now I was the lord Of this fair mansion, master of my servants, Queen o'er myself; and even now, but now, This house, these servants, and this same myself, Are yours, my lord."

Then as a pledge of all her love Portia gives to Bassanio a ring,and bids him never part from it so long as he shall live. AndBassanio taking it, gladly swears to keep it forever.

"But when this ring Parts from this finger, then parts life from hence; O, then be bold to say, Bassanio's dead."

And then as if to make the joy complete, it is discovered thatPortia's lady in waiting, Nerissa, and Bassanio's friend,Gratiano, also love each other, and they all agree to be marriedon the same day.

In the midst of this happiness the runaway couple, Lorenzo andJessica, arrive from Venice with another of Antonio's friends whobrings a letter to Bassanio. As Bassanio reads the letter allthe gladness fades from his face. He grows pale and trembles.Anxiously Portia asks what troubles him.

"I am half yourself, And I must freely have the half of anything That this same paper brings you."

And Bassanio answers:--

"O sweet Portia, Here are a few of the unpleasant'st words That ever blotted paper! Gentle lady, When I did first impart my love to you, I freely told you, all the wealth I had Ran in my veins, I was a gentleman; And then I told you true: and yet, dear lady, Rating myself at nothing, you shall see How much I was a braggart: when I told you My state was nothing, I should then have told you That I was worse than nothing."

He is worse than nothing, for he is in debt to his friend, andthat friend for him is now in danger of his life. For the threemonths allowed by Shylock for the payment of the debt are over,and as not one of Antonio's ships has returned, he cannot pay themoney. Many friends have offered to pay for him, but Shylockwill have none of their gold. He does not want it. What hewants is revenge. He wants Antonio's life, and well he knows ifa pound of flesh be cut from this poor merchant's breast he mustdie.

And all for three thousand ducats! "Oh," cries Portia when shehears, "what a paltry sum! Pay the Jew ten times the money andtear up the bond, rather than that Antonio shall lose a singlehair through Bassanio's fault."

"It is no use," she is told, "Shylock will have his bond, andnothing but his bond."

If that be so, then must Bassanio hasten to his friend to comforthim at least. So the wedding is hurried on, and immediatelyafter it Bassanio and Gratiano hasten away, leaving their newwives behind them.

But Portia has no mind to sit at home and do nothing while herhusband's friend is in danger of his life. As soon as Bassaniohas gone, she gives her house into the keeping of Lorenzo andsets out for Venice. From her cousin, the great lawyer Bellario,she borrows lawyer's robes for herself, and those of a lawyer'sclerk for Nerissa. And thus disguised, they reach Venice safely.

This part of the story has brought us to the fourth act of theplay, and when the curtain rises on this act we see the Court ofJustice in Venice. The Duke and all his courtiers are present,the prisoner Antonio, with Bassanio, and many others of hisfriends. Shylock is called in. The Duke tries to soften theJew's heart and make him turn to mercy, in vain. Bassanio alsotries in vain, and still Bellario, to whom the Duke has sent foraid, comes not.

At this moment Nerissa, dressed as a lawyer's clerk, enters,bearing a letter. The letter is from Bellario recommending ayoung lawyer named Balthazar to plead Antonio's cause. This is,of course, none other than Portia. She is admitted, and at oncebegins the case. "You stand within his danger, do you not?" shesays to Antonio.

"ANTONIO. I do.

PORTIA. Then must the Jew be merciful.

SHYLOCK. On what compulsion must I? Tell me that.

PORTIA. The quality of mercy is not strained; It droppeth, as the gentle rain from heaven Upon the place beneath; it is twice blessed; It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes: 'Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes The thronéd monarch better than his crown; His scepter shows the force of temporal power, The attribute to awe and majesty, Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings; But mercy is above this sceptr'd sway, It is enthronéd in the hearts of kings, It is an attribute to God himself; And earthly power doth then show likest God's When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew, Though justice be thy plea, consider this-- That in the course of justice, none of us Shall see salvation: we do pray for mercy; And that same prayer doth teach us all to render The deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus much, To mitigate the justice of thy plea; Which if thou follow, this strict court of Venice Must needs give sentence 'gainst the merchant there.

SHYLOCK. My deeds upon my head! I crave the law, The penalty and forfeit of my bond.

PORTIA. Is he not able to discharge the money?

BASSANIO. Yes, here I tender it for him in the court; Yea, twice the sum: if that will not suffice, I will be bound to pay it ten times o'er, On forfeit of my hands, my head, my heart: If this will not suffice, it must appear That malice bears down truth. And I beseech you Wrest once the law to your authority: To do a great right, do a little wrong; And curb this cruel devil of his will.

PORTIA. It must not be; there is no power in Venice Can alter a decree established: 'Twill be recorded for a precedent; And many an error, by the same example, Will rush into the state; it cannot be.

SHYLOCK. A Daniel come to judgement! yea, a Daniel! O wise young judge, how I do honour thee!

PORTIA. I pray you, let me look upon the bond.

SHYLOCK. Here 'tis, most reverend doctor, here it is.

PORTIA. Shylock, there's thrice thy money offered thee.

SHYLOCK. An oath, an oath, I have an oath in heaven: Shall I lay perjury upon my soul? No, not for Venice.

PORTIA. Why, this bond is forfeit: And lawfully by this the Jew may claim A pound of flesh, to be by him cut off Nearest the merchant's heart. Be merciful; Take thrice thy money; bid me tear the bond.

SHYLOCK. When it is paid according to the tenour. It doth appear you are a worthy judge; You know the law, your exposition Hath been most sound; I charge you by the law, Whereof you are a well-deserving pillar, Proceed to judgment: by my soul I swear, There is no power in the tongue of man To alter me: I stay here on my bond.

ANTONIO. Most heartily I do beseech the court To give the judgement.

PORTIA. Why then, thus it is. You must prepare your bosom for his knife.

SHYLOCK. O noble judge! O excellent young man!

PORTIA. For the intent and purpose of the law Hath full relation to the penalty, Which here appeareth due upon the bond.

SHYLOCK. 'Tis very true: O wise and upright judge! How much more elder art thou than thy looks!

PORTIA. Therefore, lay bare your bosom.

SHYLOCK. Ay, his breast: So says the bond;--Doth it not, noble judge? Nearest his heart, those are the very words.

PORTIA. It is so. Are there balance here, to weigh The flesh?

SHYLOCK. I have them ready.

PORTIA. Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on your charge, To stop his wounds, lest he do bleed to death.

SHYLOCK. Is it so nominated in the bond?

PORTIA. It is not so express'd. But what of that? 'Twere good you do so much for charity.

"PORTIA. A pound of that same merchant's flesh is thine; The court awards it, and the law doth give it.

SHYLOCK. Most rightful judge!

PORTIA. And you must cut this flesh from off his breast; The law allows it; and the court awards it.

SHYLOCK. Most learned judge!--A sentence; come, prepare.

PORTIA. Tarry a little;--there is something else. This bond doth give thee here no jot of blood; The words expressly are, a pound of flesh: But, in the cutting it, if thou dost shed One drop of Christian blood, thy lands and goods Are, by the laws of Venice, confiscate Unto the state of Venice.

GRATIANO. O upright judge!--Mark, Jew;--O learned judge!

SHYLOCK. Is that the law?

PORTIA. Thyself shall see the act; For, as thou urgest justice, be assur'd, Thou shalt have justice, more than thou desir'st.

GRATIANO. O learned judge,--Mark, Jew;--a learned judge!

SHYLOCK. I take this offer then,--pay the bond thrice, And let the Christian go.

BASSANIO. Here is the money.

PORTIA. Soft; The Jew shall have all justice;--soft;--no haste;-- He shall have nothing but the penalty.

GRATIANO. O Jew! An upright judge, a learned judge!

PORTIA. Therefore, prepare thee to cut off the flesh. Shed thou no blood; nor cut thou less, nor more, But just a pound of flesh: if thou tak'st more, Or less, than a just pound,--be it but so much As makes it light, or heavy, in the substance, Or the division of the twentieth part Of one poor scruple,--nay, if the scale do turn But in the estimation of a hair,-- Thou diest, and all thy goods are confiscate.

GRATIANO. A second Daniel, a Daniel, Jew! Now, infidel, I have thee on the hip.

PORTIA. Why doth the Jew pause? Take thy forfeiture.

SHYLOCK. Give me my principal, and let me go.

BASSANIO. I have it ready for thee; here it is.

PORTIA. He hath refus'd it in the open court; He shall have merely justice, and his bond.

GRATIANO. A Daniel, still say I; a second Daniel! I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word.

SHYLOCK. Shall I not have barely my principal?

PORTIA. Thou shalt have nothing but the forfeiture, To be so taken at thy peril, Jew."

So, seeing himself beaten on all points, the Jew would leave thecourt. But not yet is he allowed to go. Not until he has beenfined for attempting to take the life of a Venetian citizen, notuntil he is humiliated, and so heaped with disgrace and insultthat we are sorry for him, is he allowed to creep away.

The learned lawyer is loaded with thanks, and Bassanio wishes topay him nobly for his pains. But he will take nothing; nothing,that is, but the ring which glitters on Bassanio's finger. ThatBassanio cannot give--it is his wife's present and he haspromised never to part with it. At that the lawyer pretendsanger. "I see, sir," he says:--

"You are liberal in offers: You taught me first to beg; and now, methinks, You teach me how a beggar should be answered."

Hardly have they parted than Bassanio repents his seeminglychurlish action. Has not this young man saved his friend fromdeath, and himself from disgrace? Portia will surely understandthat his request could not be refused, and so he sends Gratianoafter him with the ring. Gratiano gives the ring to the lawyer,and the seeming clerk begs Gratiano for his ring, which he,following his friend's example, gives.

In the last act of the play all the friends are gathered again atBelmont. After some merry teasing upon the subject of the ringsthe truth is told, and Bassanio and Gratiano learn that theskillful lawyer and his clerk were none other than their youngand clever wives.

BOOKS TO READ

Among the best books of Shakespeare's stories are: Stories fromShakespeare, by Jeanie Lang. The Shakespeare Story-Book, by MaryM'Leod. Tales from Shakespeare (Everyman's Library), by C. andM. Lamb.

Comedies. - Love's Labour's Lost; Two Gentlemen of Verona; Comedyof Errors; Merchant of Venice; Taming of the Shrew; A MidsummerNight's Dream; All's Well that Ends Well; Merry Wives of Windsor;Much Ado About Nothing; As You Like It; Twelfth Night; Troilusand Cressida; Measure for Measure; Pericles; Cymbeline; TheTempest; A Winter's Tale.

Chapter XLVIII JONSON--"EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR"

OF all the dramatists who were Shakespeare's friends, of thosewho wrote before him, with him, and just after him, we havelittle room to tell. But there is one who stands almost as farabove them all as Shakespeare stands above him. This is BenJonson, and of him we must speak.

Ben Jonson's life began in poverty, his father dying before hewas born, and leaving his widow poorly provided for. When Benwas about two years old his mother married again, and this secondhusband was a bricklayer. Ben, however, tells us that his ownfather was a gentleman, belonging to a good old Scottish Borderfamily, and that he had lost all his estates in the reign ofQueen Mary. But about the truth of this we do not know, for Benwas a bragger and a swaggerer. He may not have belonged to thisScottish family, and he may have had no estates to lose. Benfirst went to a little school at St. Martin's-in-the-fields inLondon. There, somehow, the second master of Westminster Schoolcame to know of him, became his friend, and took him toWestminster, where he paid for his schooling. But when Ben leftschool he had to earn a living in some way, so he became abricklayer like his step-father, when "having a trowell in hishand he had a book in his pocket."*

*Fuller.

He did not long remain a bricklayer, however, for he could notendure the life, and next we find him a soldier in theNetherlands. We know very little of what he did as a soldier,and soon he was home again in England. Here he married. Hiswife was a good woman, but with a sharp tongue, and the marriagedoes not seem to have been very happy. And although they hadseveral children, all of them died young.

And now, like Shakespeare, Jonson became an actor. LikeShakespeare too, he wrote plays. His first play is that by whichhe is best known, called Every Man in His Humour. By a man'shumor, Jonson means his chief characteristic, one man, forinstance, showing himself jealous, another boastful, and so on.

It will be a long time before you will care to read Every Man inHis Humour, for there is a great deal in it that you wouldneither understand nor like. It is a play of the manners andcustoms of Elizabethan times which are so unlike ours that wehave little sympathy with them. And that is the differencebetween Ben Jonson and Shakespeare. Shakespeare, although hewrote of his own time, wrote for all time; Jonson wrote of hisown time for his own time. Yet, in Every Man in His Humour thereis at least one character worthy to live beside Shakespeare's,and that is the blustering, boastful Captain Bobadill. He talksvery grandly, but when it comes to fighting, he thinks it best torun away and live to fight another day. If only to know CaptainBobadill it will repay you to read Every Man in His Humour whenyou grow up.

Here is a scene in which he shows his "humor" delightfully:--

"BOBADILL. I am a gentleman, and live here obscure, and tomyself. But were I known to Her Majesty and the Lords-- observeme--I would undertake, upon this poor head and life, for thepublic benefit of the State, not only to spare the entire lives ofher subjects in general, but to save the one half, nay, threeparts, of her yearly charge in holding war, and against what enemysoever. And how would I do it, think you?

EDWARD KNOWELL. Nay, I know not, nor can I conceive.

BOBADILL. Why thus, sir. I would select nineteen more, tomyself, throughout the land. Gentlemen, they should be of goodspirit, strong and able constitution. I would choose them by aninstinct, a character that I have. And I would teach thesenineteen the special rules, as your punto,* your reverso, yourstoccata, your imbroccata, your passada, your montanto; till theycould all play very near, or altogether, as well as myself. Thisdone, say the enemy were forty thousand strong, we twenty wouldcome into the field the tenth of March, or thereabouts, and wewould challenge twenty of the enemy. They could not in theirhonour refuse us. Well, we would kill them. Challenge twenty more,kill them; twenty more, kill them; twenty more, kill them too. Andthus would we kill every man his twenty a day. That's twentyscore. Twenty score, that's two hundred. Two hundred a day, fivedays a thousand. Forty thousand; forty times five, five timesforty; two hundred days kills them all up by computation. And thiswill I venture by poor gentleman-like carcase to perform, providedthere be no treason practised upon us, by fair and discreetmanhood; that is, civilly by the sword.

EDWARD KNOWELL. Why! are you so sure of your hand, Captain, atall times?

BOBADILL. Tut! never miss thrust, upon my reputation with you.

EDWARD KNOWELL. I would not stand in Downright's state then, anyou meet him, for the wealth of any one street in London."

*This and the following are names of various passes andthrusts used in fencing. Punto is a direct hit, reverso abackward blow, and so on.

(Knowell says this because Bobadill and Downright have had aquarrel, and Downright wishes to fight the Captain.)

"BOBADILL. Why, sir, you mistake me. If he were here now, bythis welkin, I would not draw my weapon on him. Let this gentlemando his mind; but I will bastinado him, by the bright sun, whereverI meet him.

BOBADILL. Tall man, I never thought on it till now-- Body ofme, I had a warrant of the peace served on me, even now as Icame along, by a water-bearer. This gentleman saw it, MasterMatthew.

DOWNRIGHT. 'Sdeath! you will not draw! [DOWNRIGHT disarms BOBADILL and beats him.

MATTHEW runs away.BOBADILL. Hold! hold! under thy favour forbear.

DOWNRIGHT. Prate again, as you like this, you foist* you. Yourconsort is gone. Had he staid he had shared with you, sir. [Exit DOWNRIGHT.

BOBADILL. Well, gentlemen, bear witness, I was bound to thepeace, by this good day.

EDWARD KNOWELL. No, fait, it's an ill day, Captain, never reckonit other. But, say you were bound to the peace, the law allows youto defend yourself. That will prove but a poor excuse.

BOBADILL. I cannot tell, sir. I desire good construction in fairsort. I never sustained the like disgrace, by heaven! Sure I wasstruck with a planet thence, for I had no power to touch myweapon.

EDWARD KNOWELL. Ay, like enough, I have heard of many that havebeen beaten under a planet. Go, get you to a surgeon! 'Slid! andthese be your tricks, your passadoes, and your montantos, I'llnone of them."

*Fraud.

When Every Man in His Humour was acted, Shakespeare took a partin it. He and Jonson must have met each other often, must haveknown each other well. At the Mermaid Tavern all the wits usedto gather. For there was a kind of club founded by Sir WalterRaleigh, and here the clever men of the day met to smoke andtalk, and drink not a little. And among all the clever menJonson soon came to be acknowledged as the king and leader. Wehave a pleasant picture of these friendly meetings by a man wholived then. "Many were the wit-combats," he says, "betwixtShakespeare and Ben Jonson, which two I behold like a Spanishgreat gallion and an English Man of War: Master Jonson (like theformer) was built far higher in learning; solid, but slow in hisperformances. Shakespeare, with the English Man of War, lesserin bulk but lighter in sailing, could turn with all tides, tackabout, and take advantage of all winds, by the quickness of hiswit and invention."*

*Thomas Fuller, Worthies.

Another writer says in a letter to Ben,

"What things have we seen, Done at the Mermaid! heard words that have been So nimble, and so full of subtile flame As if that every one from whence they came Had meant to pit his whole wit in a jest."*

*F. Beaumont, Letter to Ben Jonson.

And so we get a picture of Ben lording it in taverns. A greatgood fellow, a stout fellow, he rolls his huge bulk about layingdown the law.

So the years went on. Big Ben wrote and fought, quarreled andmade friends, drank and talked, living always on the verge ofpoverty. At length, in 1603, the great Queen Elizabeth died, andJames of Scotland came to the English throne. All the way as hejourneyed he was greeted with rejoicing. There were everywhereplays and feasts given in his honor, and soon after he arrived inLondon a Masque written by Jonson was played before him. The newking was fond of such entertainments. He smiled upon Master BenJonson, and life became for him easier and brighter.

But shortly after this, Jonson, with two others, wrote a play inwhich some things were said against the Scots. With a Scottishking surrounded by Scottish lords, that was dangerous. All threesoon found themselves in prison and came near losing their nosesand ears. This was not the first time that Ben had been inprison, for soon after Every Man in His Humour was acted, hequarreled for some unknown reason with another actor. In thefoolish fashion of the day they fought a duel over it, and Benkilled the other man. For this he was seized and put in prison,and just escaped being hanged. He was left off only with theloss of all his goods and a brand on the left thumb.

Now once more Jonson escaped. When he was set free, his friendsgave a great feast to show their joy. But Ben had not learnedhis lesson, and at least once again he found himself in prisonbecause of something he had written.

But in spite of these things the King continued to smile upon BenJonson. He gave him a pension and made him poet laureate, and itwas now that he began to write the Masques for which he becamefamous. These Masques were dainty poetic little plays writtenfor the court and often acted by the Queen and her ladies. Therewas much singing and dancing in them, and the dresses of theactors were gorgeous beyond description. And besides this, whilethe ordinary stage was still without any scenery, Inigo Jones,the greatest architect in the land, joined Ben Jonson in makinghis plays splendid by inventing scenery for them. This scenerywas beautiful and elaborate, and was sometimes changed two orthree times during the play. One of these plays called TheMasque of Blackness was acted by the Queen and her ladies in1605, and when we read the description of the scenery it makes uswonder and smile too at the remembrance of Wall and the Man inthe Moon of which Shakespeare made such fun a few years earlier,and of which you will read in A Midsummer Night's Dream.

Besides his Masques, Jonson wrote two tragedies, and a number ofcomedies, as well as other poems. But for a great part of hislife, the part that must have been the easiest and brightest, hewrote Masques for the King and court and not for the ordinarystage. He knew his own power in this kind of writing well, andhe was not modest. "Next himself," he said, "only Fletcher andChapman could make a mask."* He found, too, good friends amongthe nobles. With one he lived for five years, another gave himmoney to buy books, and his library became his great joy andpride.

*Conversation of Ben Jonson with Drummond of Hawthornden.

Ben Jonson traveled too. For a time he traveled in France withSir Walter Raleigh's son, while Sir Walter himself was shut up inthe Tower. But Jonson's most famous journey is his walk toScotland. He liked to believe that he belonged to a famousBorder family, and wished to visit the land of his forefathers.So in the mid-summer of 1618 he set out. We do not know how longhe took to make his lengthy walk, but in September he wascomfortably settled in Leith, being "worthily entertained" by allthe greatest and most learned men of the day. He had moneyenough for all his wants, for he was able to give a gold pieceand two and twenty shillings to another poet less well off thanhimself. He was given the freedom of the city of Edinburgh andmore than 200 pounds was spent on a great feast in his honor.About Christmas he went to pay a visit to a well-known Scottishpoet, William Drummond, who lived in a beautiful house calledHawthornden, a few miles from Edinburgh. There he stayed two orthree weeks, during which time he and his host had many a longtalk together, discussing men and books. Drummond wrote down allthat he could remember of these talks, and it is from them thatwe learn a good deal of what we know about our poet, a good deal,perhaps, not to his credit. We learn from them that he was vainand boastful, a loud talker and a deep drinker. Yet there issomething about this big blustering Ben that we cannot help butlike.

In January sometime, Jonson set his face homeward, and reachedLondon in April or May, having taken nearly a year to pay hisvisit. He must have been pleased with his journey, for on hisreturn he wrote a poem about Scotland. Nothing of it has comedown to us, however, except one line in which he calls Edinburgh"The heart of Scotland, Britain's other eye."

The years passed for Jonson, if not in wealth, at least in suchcomfort as his way of life allowed. For we cannot ever think ofhim as happy in his own home by his own fireside. He is rather aking in Clubland spending his all freely and taking no thoughtfor the morrow. But in 1625 King James died, and although thenew King Charles still continued the poet's pension, his tasteswere different from those of his father, and Jonson found himselfand his Masques neglected. His health began to fail too, and hislibrary, which he dearly loved, was burned, together with many ofhis unpublished manuscripts, and so he fell on evil days.

Forgotten at court, Jonson began once more to write for thestage. But now that he had to write for bread, it almost seemedas if his pen had lost its charm. The plays he wrote addednothing to his fame. They were badly received. And so at last,in trouble for to-morrow's bread, without wife or child tocomfort him, he died on 8th August, 1637.

He was buried in Westminster, and it was intended to raise a finetomb over his grave. But times were growing troublous, and themonument was still lacking, when a lover of the poet, Sir JohnYoung of Great Milton, in Oxfordshire, came to do honor to histomb. Finding it unmarked, he paid a workman 1s. 6d. to carveabove the poet's resting-place the words, "O rare Ben Jonson."And perhaps these simple words have done more to keep alive thememory of the poet than any splendid monument could have done.

Chapter XLIX JONSON--"THE SAD SHEPHERD"

ALTHOUGH Ben Jonson's days ended sadly, although his later playsshowed failing powers, he left behind him unfinished a Masquecalled The Sad Shepherd which is perhaps more beautiful and morefull of music than anything he ever wrote. For Ben's charm didnot lie in the music of his words but in the strength of hisdrawing of character. As another poet has said of him, "Ben as arule--a rule which is proved by the exception--was one of thesingers who could not sing; though, like Dryden, he could intonemost admirably."*

*Swinburne.

The Sad Shepherd is a tale of Robin Hood. Here once more we findan old story being used again, for we have already heard of RobinHood in the ballads. Robin Hood makes a great fest to all theshepherds and shepherdesses round about. All are glad to come,save one Aeglamon, the Sad Shepherd, whose love, Earine, has, hebelieves, been drowned. But later in the play we learn thatEarine is not dead, but that a wicked witch, Mother Maudlin, hasenchanted her, and shut her up in a tree. She had done this inorder to force Earine to give up Aeglamon, her true lover, andmarry her own wretched son Lorel.

When the play begins, Aeglamon passes over the stage mourning forhis lost love.

"Here she was wont to go! and here! and here! Just where those daisies, pinks, and violets grow, The world may find the spring by following her, For other print her airy steps ne'er left. Her treading would not bend a blade of grass, Or shake the downy blow-ball from his stalk! But like the soft west wind she shot along, And where she went the flowers took thickest root-- As she had sowed them with her odorous foot."

Robin Hood has left Maid Marian, Friar Tuck, Little John, and allhis merry men to hunt the deer and make ready the feast. AndTuck says:

"And I, the chaplain, here am left to be Steward to-day, and charge you all in fee, To don your liveries, see the bower dressed, And fit the fine devices for the feast."

So some make ready the bower, the tables and the seats, whileMaid Marian, Little John and others set out to hunt. Presentlythey return successful, having killed a fine stag. Robin, too,comes home, and after loving greetings, listens to the tale ofthe hunt. Then Marian tells how, when the huntsmen cut up thestag, they threw the bone called the raven's bone to one that satand croaked for it.

"Now o'er head sat a raven, On a sere bough, a grown great bird, and hoarse! Who, all the while the deer was breaking up So croaked and cried for it, as all the huntsmen, Especially old Scathlock, thought it ominous; Swore it was Mother Maudlin, whom he met At the day-dawn, just as he roused the deer Out of his lair."

Mother Maudlin was a retched old witch, and Scathlock says he isyet more sure that the raven was she, because in her own form hehas just seen her broiling the raven's bone by the fire, sitting"In the chimley-nuik within." While the talk went on Maid Marianhad gone away. Now she returns and begins to quarrel with RobinHood. Venison is much too good for such folk as he and his men,she says; "A starved mutton carcase would better fit theirpalates," and she orders Scathlock to take the venison to MotherMaudlin. Those around can scarce believe their ears, for

"Robin and his Marian are the sum and talk Of all that breathe here in the green-wood walk."

Such is their love for each other. They are "The turtles of thewood," "The billing pair." No one is more astonished than RobinHood, as he cries:

"I dare not trust the faith of mine own senses, I fear mine eyes and ears: this is not Marian! Nor am I Robin Hood! I pray you ask her, Ask her, good shepherds, ask her all for me: Or rather ask yourselves, if she be she, Or I be I."

But Maid Marian only scolds the more, and at last goes awayleaving the others in sad bewilderment. Of course this was notMaid Marian at all, but Mother Maudlin, the old witch, who hadtaken her form in order to make mischief.

Meanwhile the real Maid Marian discovers that the venison hasbeen sent away to Mother Maudlin's. With tears in her eyes shedeclares that she gave no such orders, and Scathlock is sent tobring it back.

When Mother Maudlin comes to thank Maid Marian for her present,she is told that no such present was ever intended, and so she inanger curses the cook, casting spells upon him:

"The spit stand still, no broches turn Before the fire, but let it burn. Both sides and haunches, till the whole Converted be into one coal. The pain we call St. Anton's fire, The gout, or what we can desire, To cramp a cook in every limb, Before they dine yet, seize on him."

Soon Friar Tuck comes in. "Hear you how," he says, "Poor Tom the cook is taken! all his joints Do crack, as if his limbs were tied with points. His whole frame slackens; and a kind of rack, Runs down along the spindils of his back; A gout, or cramp, now seizeth on his head, Then falls into his feet; his knees are lead; And he can stir his either hand no more Than a dead stump, to his office, as before."

He is bewitched, that is certain. And certain too it is thatMother Maudlin has done it. So Robin and his men set out to huntfor her, while Friar Tuck and Much the Miller's son stay to lookafter the dinner in the poor cook's stead. Robin soon meetsMother Maudlin who has again taken the form of Maid Marian. Butthis time Robin suspects her. He seizes the witch by herenchanted belt. It breaks, and she comes back to her own shape,and Robin goes off, leaving her cursing.

Mother Maudlin then calls for Puck-hairy, her goblin. Heappears, crying:

"They are other clouds and blacker threat you, dame; You must be wary, and pull in your sails, And yield unto the weather of the tempest. You think your power's infinite as your malice, And would do all your anger prompts you to; But you must wait occasions, and obey them: Sail in an egg-shell, make a straw your mast, A cobweb all your cloth, and pass unseen, Till you have 'scaped the rocks that are about you.

MAUDLIN. What rocks about me?

PUCK. I do love, madam, To show you all your dangers--when you're past them! Come, follow me, I'll once more be your pilot, And you shall thank me.

MAUDLIN. Lucky, my loved Goblin!"

And here the play breaks off suddenly, for Jonson died and leftit so. It was finished by another writer* later on, but withnone of Jonson's skill, and reading the continuation we feel thatall the interest is gone. However, you will be glad to know thateverything comes right. The good people get happily married andall the bad people become good, even the wicked old witch, MotherMaudlin.

*F. G. Waldron.

Chapter L RALEIGH--"THE REVENGE"

SOME of you may have seen a picture of a brown-faced sailorsitting by the seashore, telling stories of travel and adventureto two boy. The one boy lies upon the sand with his chin in hishands listening but carelessly, the other with his hands claspedabout his knees listens eagerly. His face is rapt, his eyes theeyes of a poet and a dreamer. This picture is called The Boyhoodof Raleigh, and was painted by one of our great painters, SirJohn Millais. In it he pictures a scene that we should like tobelieve was common in Sir Walter Raleigh's boyhood, but we cannottell if it were really so or not. Beyond the fact that he wasborn in a white-walled thatched-roofed farmhouse, near BudleighSalterton in Devonshire, about the year 1552, we know nothing ofRaleigh's childhood. But from the rising ground near HayesBarton, the house in which he was born, we catch sight of thesea. It seems not too much to believe that many a time Walterand his brother Carew, wandered through the woods and over thecommon the two and a half miles to the bay. So that from hisearliest days Walter Raleigh breathed in a love and knowledge ofthe sea. We like to think these things, but we can only makebelieve to ourselves as Millais did when he went to BudleighSalterton and painted that picture.

When still quite a boy, Walter Raleigh went to Oriel College,Oxford, but we know nothing of what he did there, and the next wehear of him is that he is fighting for the Huguenots in France.How long he remained in France, and what he did there beyond thisfighting, we do not know. But this we know, that when he went toFrance he was a mere boy, with no knowledge of fighting, noknowledge of the world. When he left he was a man and a triedsoldier, a captain and leader of men.

When next we hear of Raleigh he is in Ireland fighting therebels. There he did some brave deeds, some cruel deeds, therehe lived to the full the life of a soldier as it was in thoserough times, making all Ireland ring with his name. But althoughRaleigh had won for himself a name among soldiers, he was as yetunknown to the Queen; his fortune was still unmade.

You have all heard the story of how Raleigh first met the Queen.The first notice we have of this story is in a book from which Ihave already quoted more than once--The Worthies of England.

"This Captain Raleigh," says Fuller, "coming out of Ireland tothe English Court in good habit (his clothes being then aconsiderable part of his estate), found the Queen walking, till,meeting with a splashy place, she seemed to scruple goingthereon. Presently Raleigh cast and spread his new plush cloakon the ground, whereon the Queen trod gently, rewarding himafterwards with many suits for his so free and seasonable tenderof so fair a foot cloth."

Thomas Fuller, who wrote the book in which this story is found,was only a boy of ten when Raleigh died, so he could not haveknown the great man himself, but he must have heard many storiesabout him from those who had, and we need not disbelieve thisone. It is one of those things which might very well havehappened even if it did not.

And whether Raleigh first came into Queen Elizabeth's notice inthis manner or not, after he did become known to her, he soonrose in her favor. He rose so quickly that he almost feared thegiddy height to which he rose. According to another story ofFuller's, "This made him write in a glasse window, obvious to theQueen's eye,

'Fain would I climb, yet fear I to fall.'

"Her Majesty, either espying or being shown it, did underwrite:

'If thy heart fails thee, climb not at all.'

"However he at last climbed up by the stairs of his own desert."

Honors and favors were heaped upon Raleigh, and from being a poorsoldier and country gentleman he became rich and powerful, thelord of lands in five counties, and Captain of the Queen's OwnBody-Guard. Haughty of manner, splendid in dress, loving jewelsmore than even a woman does, Raleigh became as fine a courtier ashe was a brave soldier. But soldier though Raleigh was, courtierthough he was, loving ease and wealth and fine clothes, he was atheart a sailor and adventurer, and the sea he had loved as a boycalled to him.

Like many another of his age Raleigh, hearing the call of thewaves ever in his ears, felt the desire to explore tug at hisheart-strings. For in those days America had been discovered,and the quest for the famous North-West passage had begun. AndRaleigh longed to set forth with other men to conquer new worlds,to find new paths across the waves. But above all he longed tofight the Spaniards, who were the great sea kings of those days.Raleigh however could not be a courtier and a sailor at one andthe same time. He was meanwhile high in the Queen's favor, andshe would not let him go from her. So all that Raleigh could do,was to venture his money, and fit out a ship to which he gave hisown name. This he sent to sail along with others under thecommand of his step-brother Sir Humphrey Gilbert, who was settingout upon a voyage of discovery. It was on this voyage that SirHumphrey found and claimed Newfoundland as an English possession,setting up there "the Arms of England ingraven in lead andinfixed upon a pillar of wood."* But the expedition wasunfortunate, most of the men and ships were lost, Sir Humphreyhimself being drowned on his way home. He was brave and fearlessto the last. "We are as near to Heaven by sea as by land," hesaid, a short time before his ship went down. One vessel only"in great torment of weather and peril of drowning"* reached homesafely, "all the men tired with the tediousness of sounprofitable a voyage to their seeming." Yet though they knew itnot they had helped to lay the foundation of Greater Britain.

*Hakluyt's Voyages.

Nothing daunted by this loss, six months later Raleigh sent outanother expedition. This time it was to the land south ofNewfoundland that the ships took their way. There they set upthe arms of England, and named the new possession Virginia inhonor of the virgin Queen. This expedition was little moresuccessful than Sir Humphrey Gilbert's, but nothing seemed todiscourage Raleigh. He was bent on founding a colony, and againand yet again he sent out ships and men, spending all the wealthwhich the Queen heaped upon him in trying to extend her dominionsbeyond the seas. Hope was strong within him. "I shall yet liveto see it an English nation," he said.

And while Raleigh's captains tried to found a new England in theNew World, Raleigh himself worked at home to bring order into thevast estates the Queen had given to him in Ireland. This landhad belonged to the rebel Earl of Desmond. At one time no doubtit had been fertile, but rebellion and war had laid it waste."The land was so barren both of man and beast that whosoever didtravel from one end of all Munster . . . . he should not meetman, woman, or child, saving in cities or towns, nor yet see anybeast, save foxes, wolves, or the ravening beasts." And barrenand desolate as it was when Raleigh received it, it soon becameknown as the best tilled land in all the country-side. For hebrought workers and tenants from his old Devon home to take theplace of the beggared or slain Irish. He introduced new andbetter ways of tilling, and also he brought to Ireland a strangenew root. For it is interesting to remember that it was inRaleigh's Irish estates that potatoes were first grown in ourIslands.

Raleigh took a great interest in these estates, so perhaps it wasnot altogether a hardship to him, finding himself out of favorwith his Queen, to go to Ireland for a time. And although theyhad known each other before, it was then that his friendship withSpenser began. Spenser read his Faery Queen to Raleigh, andperhaps Raleigh read to Spenser his poem Cynthia written in honorof Queen Elizabeth. But of that poem nearly all has been lost.Elizabeth was not as yet very angry with Raleigh, still he feltthe loss of her favor, for Spenser tells us:--

"His song was all a lamentable lay, Of great unkindness and of usage hard, Of Cynthia, the Lady of the Sea, Which from her presence faultless him debarred. And ever and anon with singults* rife, He criéd out, to make his undersong, 'Ah! my love's Queen, and goddess of my life, Who shall me pity when thou doest me wrong?'"**

*Sobs. **"Colin Clout's come home again."

But Raleigh soon decided to return to court, and persuadedSpenser

"To wend with him his Cynthia to see, Whose grace was great and bounty most rewardful"*

*Colin Clout.

You know how Spenser was received and how he fared. But Raleighhimself after he had introduced his friend did not stay long atcourt. Quarrels with his rivals soon drove him forth again.

It was soon after this that he published the first writing whichgives him a claim to the name of author. This was an account ofthe fight between a little ship called the Revenge and a Spanishfleet.Although with the destruction of the Invincible Armada the seapower of Spain had been crippled, it had not been utterly broken,and still whenever Spanish and English ships met on the seas,there was sure to be battle. It being known that a fleet ofSpanish treasure-ships would pass the Azores, islands in the mid-Atlantic, a fleet of English ships under Lord Thomas Howard wassent to attack them. But the English ships had to wait so longat the Azores for the coming of the Spanish fleet that the newsof the intended attack reached Spain, and the Spaniards sent astrong fleet to help and protect their treasure-ships. TheEnglish in turn hearing of this sent a swift little boat to warnLord Thomas. The warning arrived almost too late. Many of theEnglishmen were sick and ashore, and before all could be gatheredthe fleet of fifty-three great Spanish ships was upon them.Still Lord Thomas managed to slip away. Only the last ship, theRevenge, commanded by the Rear-Admiral Sir Richard Grenville,lost the wind and was caught between two great squadrons of theSpanish. Whereupon Sir Richard "was persuaded," Sir Walter says,"by the Master and others to cut his main-sail, and cast about,and to trust to the sailing of the ship. . . . But Sir Richardutterly refused to turn from the enemy, alleging that he wouldrather choose to die, than to dishonour himself, his country, andher Majesty's ship, persuading his company that he would passthrough the two squadrons, in despite of them."

For a little time it seemed as if Sir Richard's daring mightsucceed. But a great ship, the San Philip, came between him andthe wind "and coming towards him, becalmed his sails in suchsort, as the ship could neither make way, nor feel the helm: sohuge and high-carged* was the Spanish ship. . . . The fight thusbeginning at three of the clock of the afternoon continued veryterrible all that evening. But the great San Philip havingreceived the lower tier of the Revenge, discharged with cross-barshot, shifted herself with all diligence from her sides, utterlymisliking her first entertainment. . . . The Spanish ships werefilled with companies of soldiers, in some two hundred, besidesthe mariners; in some five, in other eight hundred. In oursthere were none at all beside the mariners, but the servants ofthe commanders and some few voluntary gentlemen only." And yetthe Spaniards "were still repulsed, again and again, and at alltimes beaten back into their own ships, or into the seas."

*The meaning of the word is uncertain. It may be high-charged.

In the beginning of the fight one little store ship of theEnglish fleet hovered near. It was small and of no use infighting. Now it came close to the Revenge and the Captain askedSir Richard what he should do, and "Sir Richard bid him savehimself, and leave him to his fortune." So the gallant Revengewas left to fight alone. For fifteen hours the battle lasted,Sir Richard himself was sorely wounded, and when far into thenight the fighting ceased, two of the Spanish vessels were sunk"and in many other of the Spanish ships great slaughter wasmade." "But the Spanish ships which attempted to board theRevenge, as they were wounded and beaten off, so always otherscame in their places, she having never less than two mightgalleons by her sides and aboard her. So that ere the morning,from three of the clock the day before, there had fifteen severalArmadas* assailed her. And all so ill approved theirentertainment, as they were, by the break of day, far morewilling to hearken to a composition** than hastily to make anymore assaults or entries.

*Armada here means merely a Spanish ship of war.

**An arrangement to cease fighting on both sides.

"But as the day increased so our men decreased. And as the lightgrew more and more, by so much more grew our discomforts. Fornone appeared in sight but enemies, saving one small ship calledthe Pilgrim, commanded by Jacob Whiddon, who hovered all night tosee the success. But in the morning bearing with the Revenge,she was hunted like a hare amongst many ravenous hounds, butescaped.

"All the powder of the Revenge to the last barrel was now spent,all her pikes broken, forty of her best men slain, and the mostpart of the rest hurt. In the beginning of the fight she had butone hundred free from sickness and four score and ten sick, laidin hold upon the ballast. A small troop to man such a ship, anda weak garrison to resist so mighty an army. By those hundredall was sustained, the volleys, boarding and enterings of fifteenships of war, besides those which beat her at large.

"On the contrary, the Spanish were always supplied with soldiersbrought from every squadron; all manner of arms and power atwill. Unto ours there remained no comfort at all, no hope, nosupply either of ships, men, or weapons; the masts all beatenoverboard, all her tackle cut asunder, her upper work altogetherrazed, and in effect evened she was with the water, but the veryfoundation of a ship, nothing being left overhead for flight ordefence.

"Sir Richard finding himself in this distress and unable anylonger to make resistance, having endured in this fifteen hours'fight the assault of fifteen several Armadas, all by turns aboardhim, and by estimation eight hundred shot of great artillerybesides many assaults and entries; and (seeing) that himself andthe ship must needs be possessed of the enemy who were now allcast in a ring round about him, the Revenge not able to move oneway or another, but as she was moved by the waves and billow ofthe sea, commanded the Master Gunner, whom he knew to be a mostresolute man, to split and sink the ship, that thereby nothingmight remain of glory or victory to the Spaniards: seeing in somany hours' fight, and with so great a navy, they were not ableto take her, having had fifteen hours' time, above ten thousandmen, and fifty and three sail of men of war to perform it withal.And (he) persuaded the company, or as many as he could induce, toyield themselves unto God, and to the mercy of none else, but asthey had, like valiant resolute men, repulsed so many enemies,they should not now shorten the honour of their nation, byprolonging their own lives by a few hours, or a few days. TheMaster Gunner readily condescended and divers others. But theCaptain and the Master were of another opinion, and besought SirRichard to have care of them, alleging that the Spaniard would beas ready to entertain a composition as they were willing to offerthe same. And (they said) that there being divers sufficient andvaliant men yet living, and whose wounds were not mortal, theymight do their country and their Prince acceptable servicehereafter. And whereas Sir Richard alleged that the Spaniardsshould never glory to have taken one ship of her Majesty, seeingthey had so long and so notably defended themselves; theyanswered that the ship had six foot water in hold, three shotunder water, which were so weakly stopped as with the firstworking of the sea, she must needs sink, and was besides socrushed and bruised, as she could never be removed out of theplace.

"And as the matter was thus in dispute, and Sir Richard refusingto hearken to any of those reasons, the Master of the Revenge(while the Captain won unto him the greater party) was convoyedaboard the General Don Alfonso Bacan. Who (finding noneoverhasty to enter the Revenge again, doubting lest Sir Richardwould have blown them up and himself, and perceiving by thereport of the Master of the Revenge his dangerous disposition)yielded that all their lives should be saved, the company sentfor England, and the better sort to pay such reasonable ransom astheir estate would bear, and in the mean season to be free fromgalley or imprisonment. To this he so much the bettercondescended as well, as I have said, for fear of further lossand mischief to themselves, as also for the desire he had torecover Sir Richard Grenville, whom for his notable valour heseemed greatly to honour and admire.

"When this answer was returned, and that safety of life waspromised, the common sort being now at the end of their peril themost drew back from Sir Richard and the Master Gunner, (it) beingno hard matter to dissuade men from death to life. The MasterGunner finding himself and Sir Richard thus prevented andmastered by the greater number, would have slain himself with asword, had he not been by force with-held and locked into hiscabin. Then the General sent many boats aboard the Revenge, anddivers of our men fearing Sir Richard's disposition, stole awayaboard the General and other ships. Sir Richard thus over-matched was sent unto by Alfonso Bacan to remove out of theRevenge, the ship being marvellous unsavoury, filled with bloodand bodies of dead, and wounded men, like a slaughterhouse.

"Sir Richard answered he might do with his body what he list, forhe esteemed it not. And as he was carried out of the ship heswooned, and reviving again desired the company to pray for him.

"The General used Sir Richard with all humanity, and left nothingunattempted that tended to his recovery, highly commending hisvalour and worthiness, and greatly bewailing the danger in whichhe was, being unto them a rare spectacle, and a resolution seldomapproved, to see one ship turn toward so many enemies, to endurethe charge and boarding of so many huge Armadas, and to resistand repel the assaults and entries of so many soldiers.

"There were slain and drowned in this fight well near onethousand of the enemies, and two special commanders. . . .besides divers others of special account.

"Sir Richard died as it is said, the second or third day aboardthe General and was by them greatly bewailed. What became of hisbody, whether it were buried in the sea or on the land, we knownnot. The comfort that remaineth to his friends is, that he hathended his life honourably in respect of the reputation won to hisnation and country and of the same to his posterity, and thatbeing dead, he hath not outlived his own honour."

This gallant fight of the little Revenge against the huge navy ofSpain is one of the great things in the story of the sea; that iswhy I have chosen it out of all that Sir Walter wrote to give youas a specimen of English prose in Queen Elizabeth's time. Aslong as brave deeds are remembered, it will be told how SirRichard Grenville "walled round with wooden castles on the wave"bid defiance to the might and pride of Spain, "hoping thesplendour of some lucky star."* The fight was a hopeless onefrom the very beginning, but it was as gallant a one as ever tookplace. Even his foes were forced to admire Sir Richard'sdauntless courage, for when he was carried aboard Don Alfonso'sship "the captain and gentlemen went to visit him, and to comforthim in his hard fortune, wondering at his courageous stout heartfor that he showed not any sign of faintness nor changing ofcolour. But feeling the hour of death to approach, he spakethese words in Spanish and said, 'Here die I, Richard Grenville,with a joyful and quiet mind, for that I have ended my life as atrue soldier ought to do, and hath fought for his country, Queen,religion, and honour, whereby my soul most joyfully departeth outof this body, and shall always leave behind it an everlastingfame of a valiant and true soldier that hath done his duty as hewas bound to do.' When he had finished these or other like wordshe gave up the Ghost, with great and stout courage, and no mancould perceive any true signs of heaviness in him."**

*Gervase Markham.**Linschoten's Large Testimony in Hakluyt's Voyages.

Poets of the time made ballads of this fight. Raleigh wrote ofit as you have just read, and in our own day the great laureateLord Tennyson made the story live again in his poem The Revenge.Tennyson tells how after the fight a great storm arose:

"And or ever that evening ended a great gale blew And a wave like the wave that is raised by an earthquake grew, Till it smote on their hulls and their sails and their masts and their flags, And the whole sea plunged and fell on the shot-shatter'd navy of Spain. And the little Revenge herself went down by the island crags To be lost evermore in the main."

So neither the gallant captain nor his little ship were led hometo the triumph of Spain.

It is interesting to remember that had it not been for thecaprice of the Queen, Raleigh himself would have been in SirRichard Grenville's place. For he had orders to go on thisvoyage, but at the last moment he was recalled, and Sir Richardwas sent instead.

Chapter LI RALEIGH--"THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD"

SOON after the fight with the Revenge, the King of Spain madeready more ships to attack England. Raleigh then persuaded QueenElizabeth that it would be well to be before hand with theSpaniards and attack their ships at Panama. So to this end afleet was gathered together. But the Queen sent only two ships,various gentlemen provided others, and Raleigh spent every pennyof his own that he could gather in fitting out the remainder. Hewas himself chosen Admiral of the Fleet. So at length he startedon an expedition after his own heart.

But he had not gone far, when a swift messenger was sent to himordering him to return. Unwillingly he obeyed, and when hereached home he was at once sent to the Tower a prisoner. Thistime the Queen was really angry with him; in her eyes Raleigh'scrime was a deep one, for he had fallen in love with one of herown maids of honor, Mistress Elizabeth Throgmorton, and the Queenhad discovered it. Elizabeth allowed none of her favorites tolove any one but herself, so she punished Raleigh by sending himto the Tower.

Mistress Throgmorton was also made a prisoner. After a time,however, both prisoners were set free, though they were banishedfrom court. They married and went to live at Sherborne whereRaleigh busied himself improving his beautiful house and layingout the garden. For though set free Raleigh was still indisgrace. But we may believe that he found some recompense forhis Queen's anger in his wife's love.

In his wife Raleigh found a life-long comrade. Through all goodand evil fortune she stood by him, she shared his hopes anddesires, she sold her lands to give him money for his voyages,she shared imprisonment with him when it came again, and afterhis death she never ceased to mourn his loss. How Raleigh lovedher in return we learn from the few letters written to her whichhave come down to us. She is "Sweetheart" "Dearest Bess," and hetells to her his troubles and his hopes as to a staunch and truefriend.

We cannot follow Raleigh through all his restless life, it was sofull and varied that the story of it would fill a long book. Heloved fighting and adventure, he loved books too, and soon wefind him back in London meeting Ben Jonson and Shakespeare, andall the great writers of the age at the Mermaid Club. ForRaleigh knew all the great men of his day, among them Sir RobertBruce Cotton of whom you heard in connection with the adventuresof the Beowulf Manuscript.

But soon, in spite of his love for his wife, in spite of hisinterest in his beautiful home, in spite of his many friends,Raleigh's restless spirit again drove him to the sea, and he setout on a voyage of discovery and adventure. This time he sailedto Guiana in South America, in search of Eldorado, the fabledcity of gold. And this time he was not called back by the Queen,but although he reached South America and sailed up the Orinocoand the Caroni he "returned a beggar and withered"* withouthaving found the fabled city. Yet his belief in it was as strongas ever. He had not found the fabled city but he believed it wasto be found, and when he came home he wrote an account of hisjourney because some of his enemies said that he had never beento Guiana at all but had been hiding in Cornwall all the time.In this book he said that he was ready again to "lie hard, tofare worse, to be subjected to perils, to diseases, to illsavours, to be parched and withered"* if in the end he mightsucceed.

*Raleigh's Discovery of Guiana.

Raleigh was ready to set off again at once to discover more ofGuiana. But instead he joined the Fleet and went to fight theSpanish, who were once more threatening England, and of allenemies Raleigh considered the Spaniards the greatest.

Once again the English won a splendid victory over Spain. Beforethe town of Cadiz eight English ships captured or destroyedthirty Spanish great and little. They took the town of Cadiz andrazed its fortifications to the ground. Raleigh bore himselfwell in this fight, so well, indeed, that even his rival, Essex,was bound to confess "that which he did in the sea-service couldnot be bettered."

And now after five years' banishment from the Queen's favor,Raleigh was once more received at court. But we cannot followall the ups and downs of his court life, for we are told "SirWalter Raleigh was in and out at court, so often that he wascommonly called the tennis ball of fortune." And so the yearswent on. Raleigh became a Member of Parliament, and was madeGovernor of Jersey. He fought and traveled, attended to hisestates in Ireland, to his business in Cornwall, to hisgovernorship in Jersey. He led a stirring, busy life, fulfillinghis many duties, fighting his enemies, until in 1603 the greatQueen, whose smile or frown had meant so much to him, died.

Then soon after the new king came to the throne, it was seen thatRaleigh's day at court was indeed at an end. For James had beentold that Sir Walter was among those who were unwilling toreceive him as king. Therefore he was little disposed to lookgraciously on the handsome daring soldier-sailor.

One by one Raleigh's posts of honor were taken from him. He wasaccused of treason and once more found himself a prisoner in theTower. He was tried, and in spite of the fact that nothing wasproved against him, he was condemned to die. The sentence waschanged, however, to imprisonment for life.

Raleigh was not left quite lonely in the Tower. His wife andchildren, whom he dearly loved, were allowed to come to livebeside him. The governor was kind to him and allowed hisrenowned prisoner to use his garden. And there in a little hen-house Raleigh amused himself by making experiments in chemistry,and discovering among other things how to distill fresh waterfrom salt water. He found new friends too in the Queen and inher young son Henry, Prince of Wales. It was a strangefriendship and a warm one that grew between the gallant boy-prince of ten and the tried man of fifty. Prince Henry loved tovisit Raleigh in the Tower and listen to the tales of his bravedoings by sea and land in the days when he was free. Raleigh